


November Downtown

by romanticalgirl



Series: Seasons Change [1]
Category: Brothers & Sisters, Homicide: Life on the Street
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 07:23:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rough blue waters</p>
            </blockquote>





	November Downtown

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/)**inlovewithnight** for the beta. This, also, is her fault. I haven't seen beyond S3 of Homicide, so no spoilers, please.
> 
> Originally posted 7-17-08

"Frank." Bayliss follows Frank into the hall and dodges three detectives and a uniform as he tries to catch up to his partner. "Frank, dammit."

"I'm in a hurry, Bayliss. There's crime out there, waiting for us."

"You're not a superhero, you're a detective." Tim hurries down the stairs and barrels straight into the youngest, _hottest_ thing he's ever seen in a decent suit.

"Actually," the suit says, his eyes bluer than Baltimore's sky has ever been, "I'm a lawyer."

"Even further from a superhero." Frank detaches Bayliss from the suit and pulls him toward the door. "C'mon. We've got work to do."

Bayliss follows, looking back as the suit climbs the stairs. He stumbles down the front steps, only keeping his feet because Frank’s got a hold on him and finally starts walking next to Frank, keeping his eyes on where he’s going. “Why are we in such a hurry?”

“Crime.”

“We’re on lunch.”

“And missing it would be a crime.” Frank leads the way to a new place he’s determined to try, even though Tim has his doubts about Thai cuisine in Baltimore. Still, Frank’s been close enough to friendly lately that Tim hates to deter any gesture. He follows along, his longer stride no match for Frank’s powerful purpose that puts him miles ahead of everyone else half the time.

“Did you know that guy?”

“What guy?”

“That guy. The one I ran into.”

“No. Come on.” Frank opens the door to the restaurant and Tim’s stomach clenches at the sickly-sweet smell. The things he does for his partner.

**

The station is pretty close to deserted at three in the morning, which is nice, especially when there aren’t phones ringing. Bayliss hates nights because it’s when all the crazies come out, but he likes them too, because there are these quiet hours where all the dead have been found and given avenging angels and the rest of them have time to work on all the others on the board, names red like the blood they’ve spilled.

“Excuse me?”

Bayliss looks up and blinks, glancing around the squad room to make sure he’s the only one there, the only one this guy is talking to. He’s wearing the same suit, or maybe it’s different, but it’s the same tie, and Bayliss really needs to not notice things like that about random strangers he’s only bumped into on the stairs, though being a detective is excuse enough. “Yeah?” He stands up, unfolding until he’s at his full height and noticing that even without the stair advantage, he towers a good half a foot over this guy.

“I’m looking for Tim Bayliss?”

Something jerks inside Bayliss, and he’s not sure he wants to identify it, because the thought of what it might mean scares the hell out of him a lot more than he wants to admit. “I’m Tim Bayliss.”

“Hi. Kevin Walker.” He holds out his hand and Bayliss takes it and tightens his grip. This isn’t a guy, it’s a kid, and his hand has that soft, firm feeling of youth. Another thought blindsides Bayliss - _his hand wrapped around my-_ \- and he jerks his hand free of the grip. “I’m interning with the DA.”

“Interning. Right.” Bayliss shoves his hands in his pockets, clenching them into fists. “What can I do for you, Mr. Walker?”

“First of all, please, call me Kevin.” He grins and Bayliss gestures to the seat next to the desk, thinking maybe if he keeps something between them, he can get his head back in the game. The pun makes him smile and Walker smiles back as he sits. “They told me you were the one I should talk to about the Homicide team.”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“This is when they said you were working.” Kevin leans in with a grin that makes Bayliss’s stomach clench. “And when your defenses were at their weakest.”

“Oh. Ah.” Tim blushes and rakes a hand through his hair. “Well, um, you really should talk to Captain Russert. She was squad leader until her promotion.”

“I don’t want to talk to the brass.” Kevin shakes his head and the curls that have grown too long fall against his forehead. “I want to talk to the guys on the streets. I got a rundown from Danvers and he said you were the best person.”

“Because everyone else is an ass?”

“Because everyone else would treat me like a child or an intrusion.” He grins again and pushes his hair back off his forehead.

“Maybe I could tell you where to get a haircut too.” Bayliss smiles back to show he’s teasing and then flushes when he realizes he’s teasing this kid. _Flirting_ , his brain tells him, though he banishes the thought before it’s fully formed. “But yeah. I can introduce you around, tell you what to expect and what not to from the night guys. I don’t know the other shift all that well, really.”

“Any help is appreciated. Do you mind if I get some coffee before we start?”

“Now?” Bayliss stands, slightly surprised at the thought of work. Of course, work or coffee, for that matter, has to rank above staring at this boy’s blue eyes like some sort of love-struck idiot, which is what he’s afraid he’s about to look like. “Sure. Coffee. Well, what passes for it here.” He leads the way into break room and pours them each a cup, his nose wrinkling at the scorched smell. “We’re not much around here for…taste of any sort.” Kevin laughs and Bayliss swallows, taking a sip of too-hot coffee at the same time. Tears brim in his eyes and he blinks them away quickly, wondering how well he can function without the use of his tongue. “So.”

“So, tell me about your colleagues.”

He takes another drink of coffee, figuring it’s too late for his tongue now and leans against the counter. For a moment, it’s like he’s on the other side of one of his own interviews, looking for the reasons someone is dead, but instead it’s to mention the important things about who he works with, which are probably not the important things to Walker. Like the fact that Gee loves the jelly donuts more than any other and that Kay likes her coffee strong enough to put hair on your chest and that Frank still won’t talk to God and that Beau has a hair-trigger temper half the time and that Bolander lives and breathes the Orioles, because they haven’t left him yet and that Munch…well, no one can explain Munch. Instead, he talks about how they work and how they work together, ins and outs of being partners and working in the same office with the same crazies, he tells him about the box and Gee’s office, about what they do at shift change.

Walker asks questions, good questions, and Bayliss keeps talking, until suddenly he realizes that they’re not talking about the squad room at all anymore, but what it feels like after a week of nights to sleep and wake up when the sun’s still shining, what those days off feel like, when you’re afraid to watch the news because you think if there’s another death – and there’s always another death – it might not have happened if you hadn’t been slacking off.

He listens like a lawyer listens, sitting at one of the tables and taking notes, but his pen’s been still for a while now as he pays attention to Tim’s words. Since Jim’s arrest, things have been kind of strained between the two of them, and so Tim hasn’t had anyone to talk to. It’s freeing in a lot of ways, to have a total stranger willing to listen. Maybe this is what confession feels like, maybe this is what _friends_ feel like.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says.

Kevin blinks at him and tilts his head, the curl falling across his forehead again. “For what?”

“Rambling.”

“I didn’t stop you.” He takes another sip of his coffee, and Tim knows it must be cold by now. In the distance, Tim can hear noise and he glances at the clock, surprised it’s nearly five. Walker follows his gaze. “Your shift ends at six?”

“Eight, actually.”

“Oh.” Kevin nods and Tim licks his lips, watching him as he fiddles with his coffee cup for a moment before taking another sip. “Well, I’ve probably kept you too long. Thank you so much, Detective Bayliss.”

“We could have breakfast.” Tim feels the flush staining his skin before the words are even halfway out of his mouth, but he can’t take them back, and the answering flush darkening Kevin’s cheeks makes him not _want_ to take them back. “There’s a diner nearby or…”

“Or?”

“Or. Um.” Bayliss starts Munch comes into the break room, heading straight for the coffee maker. He looks like he’s been caught in a torrential downpour, but the smell indicates that whatever he’s covered in, it isn’t water. “Wow, Munch.”

“Don’t say a word, Bayliss. Don’t even think about saying a word. Don’t let a syllable form in your head. No, not a syllable. A dipthong.” He glares at them both and then his brow furrows. “Who’s this?”

“Kevin Walker.” Kevin stands up and holds his hand out to Munch and then flushes again, pulling it back. “I’m interning at the DA’s office.”

“Why’re you talking to Bayliss? He doesn’t know anything. You want to know things, kid, you come talk to me. I know the ins and outs of this station like a lover. I can tell you what will make her laugh, what will make her cry, what will make her scream in ecstasy.”

“Munch, he’s just a kid.” Bayliss realizes the error of his words as Kevin glances back at him, his blue eyes darkening. “You’re scaring him. Hell, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m a scary guy, Bayliss.” Munch growls in their direction and grabs his coffee, leaving a trail of muck on the floor as he heads to the locker room.

“I apologize for him.” Tim reaches out, touches Kevin lightly on the arm. “He’s…”

“It’s okay.” Kevin smiles, but there’s something missing from it and Bayliss sighs quietly. “I really should get going. It was nice meeting you, Detective Bayliss. Thank you for all the information.”

“You’re welcome.” Tim shoves his hands in his pockets and manages a hint of a smile. He doesn’t get the urgency to have this boy like him, doesn’t know why it seems to matter so much, but it does. “I own a bar.”

“Really?”

He knows it’s just polite interest, but he can’t stop himself from talking. “Well, co-own. With Munch and Lewis. It’s the Waterfront, not far from here. Across the street. You should come by some time. You’d like it, I think. I mean, well, you wouldn’t because it’s kind of a horrible bar with no customers, but you should come by.”

“You said that.”

“Well, you should. Sometime.”

Kevin nods and smiles at him. “Maybe I will. Thanks again, Detective.”

“Yeah. You’re welcome.” Bayliss watches him leave, careful to avoid stepping in whatever it is that Munch left behind. Sighing, Bayliss sinks down into his chair again and buries his chin in his hand. “Well, shit.”

**

Bayliss doesn’t look for him every time someone comes into the squad room, and certainly doesn’t look up every time the door opens at the bar hoping that it’s him. In fact, he’s put Kevin Walker completely out of his mind. He’s just another young, wannabe hotshot lawyer, looking to make his name on someone else’s misery. He’s just a goofy kid, hanging out in the police station like it’s going to matter if he knows something about the cops he works with. Nothing makes a difference. People still kill people, people still end up dead.

“Hey, Detective.”

Bayliss looks up from his crossword and flushes hotly, his skin warmer than the burn of the bourbon he’s drinking. The bar is empty, everyone else somewhere else, and he hasn’t ever been this glad to be going broke. “Mr. Walker.”

“Oh, God. Call me Kevin. Please.” He slides onto a stool and Bayliss almost wants to ask him for ID, just to be safe, but he’s pretty sure that if he did that, he wouldn’t see Kevin again, ever. “Nice place.”

“It’s not nice.”

“No. It is. Very welcoming. Very clean.” He turns around on his stool, surveying the whole bar then circles back around to smile at Bayliss. “The bartender looks like he’d be a good listener.”

“You have something to get off your chest?” He grabs a bar rag from his pocket and starts wiping the area in front of Kevin, trying to keep from smiling at the complete clichéd set up. “You want something to drink?”

“What do you recommend?”

Bayliss flushes at the very first thought that pops into his head and clears his throat. “We have some good whiskey.”

“Whiskey it is then.” Kevin smiles and sets his wallet on the bar. “You want to see ID?”

“No. And your money’s no good here tonight.” At Kevin’s raised eyebrow he laughs and shrugs. “Okay, your money’s good, just because we need it so desperately.” He glances out the window and the weather. “So, you’re not from here.”

“No. California.”

“Really?” Tim pours Kevin’s whiskey then grabs his own drink and moves around to sit beside him at the bar. “What part?”

“LA.”

“God, you must hate it out here.” Tim laughs and glances at the slushy mess of snow piling up on the windowsill.

“I don’t know. It might be nice to have seasons every now and again.” Kevin takes a sip of whiskey and closes his eyes as he swallows and Tim follows the line of his throat down to his loosened tie.

“Perpetual summer sounds good right about now.” Tim swallows a drink of his own. “What brings you to Baltimore? I mean, just your internship or…something else?”

“Just the internship. I’m only out here for a year, and then it’s back to LA. My family is already calling four times a week. Well, my mom and my sisters.” He smiles at Tim and shakes his head. “My family would probably qualify as certifiably insane, but they’re still family, you know?”

“Yeah.” Tim nods, unable to look away from this kid, this boy. This _boy_. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

“So, do you guys not employ bartenders?”

“We do. We each take a shift during the week if we can. Cut overhead, you know?”

“Could I help out?”

“Help out?”

“Sure. Take a shift now and then. Might be fun.”

“It’s not fun.” He knows he needs to say no for about a million different reasons, not the least of which is the fact that he can’t stop looking at the hollow of Kevin’s throat shadowed by the knot of his loosened tie. “Do you know anything about bartending?”

“Probably about as much as three off-duty homicide cops do.” He smiles and Bayliss knows he’s lost – lost the argument, lost his mind. “What do you say?”

“Yeah. Sure.” He smiles at Kevin and swallows down the rest of his bourbon in one long shot. “Welcome aboard.”

**

It takes about three weeks to see that Kevin fits in just fine with the rest of the gang, and he even manages to bring in a younger crowd, but it takes almost two months before Munch and Lewis corner Bayliss in the storeroom and ask him what the hell he was thinking.

“What do you mean?” Tim tilts slightly to look around Lewis at where Kevin is working the actually somewhat busy bar. “He’s doing a great job.”

“He’s _gay_ ,” Munch informs him.

“He’s what?”

“Gay, Bayliss.” Meldrick sits down on a stack of beer cases. “The boy is gay.”

“Okay.” Bayliss nods and exhales slowly. “And why is that a problem?”

“He’s _gay_ , Bayliss.” Munch reiterates. “We can’t have a gay bartender.”

“We don’t have a gay bartender,” Bayliss reminds him. “We have a gay DA intern who is helping us out. For free.”

“But we have an image.”

Bayliss looks at Meldrick for a minute. “A homophobic one?”

“No, not a homo-” Meldrick shakes his head, obviously embarrassed. “Jesus, Bayliss.”

“Well, I’m just wondering.”

“What if people see him and think this is a gay bar,” Munch suggests, looking around the doorjamb at where Kevin stands at the bar, laughing with Kay. “I mean, they could. That could happen.”

“People could look at us and just assume it’s a cop bar.” Bayliss stands up from where they’d pushed him to sit and shakes his head. “You guys, so he’s gay. He’s nice, he’s brought young people in and everyone’s having a good time. I don’t see a problem.”

“You never do, Timmy.” Munch reminds him, shaking his head. “You never do.”

Bayliss shakes his head again and moves out into the bar, grabbing two glasses and filling them from the tap as Kevin walks over. “Everything okay, boss?”

“Just business.” Tim smiles at Kevin and Kevin smiles back and something inside Tim flares. There’s something in Kevin’s eyes or maybe there’s just enough booze in Bayliss’s system to want to see it, or maybe it’s knowing that Kevin’s gay so it doesn’t really matter. “Last call’s coming up pretty soon.”

“Yeah. You ready for the rush?”

There’s still snow on the ground and in the air and it’s colder than Tim can remember, but Kevin’s smile is like basking in the sun, bright and warm and welcoming. “After we clean up, you want to get breakfast? There’s a diner down the street.”

“I know, you told me.” Kevin’s laughing at him, but Tim can’t manage to care. “You never told me the ‘or’ though.”

“The ‘or’?”

“Last time you said ‘there’s a diner down the street, or…’, and then Munch came in. So you never told me the ‘or’.”

“Oh.” Bayliss feels heat crawl up his. He’s not sure if Munch and Lewis are watching, not sure if anyone is other than Kevin, but his gaze is enough to make up for all the rest. “Or I make a pretty decent omelet.”

“Is that so?”

Bayliss prides himself on knowing how to tell when people are hiding things. He can read people well and he’s worked with Frank enough that he can spot facial tics and tells that most people don’t see. Kevin’s face is impassive and gives him absolutely nothing to go on. “Yeah.”

“Is that your personal opinion or an outside one?”

“Personal.”

“I see. Well, obviously there’s some bias there, Detective.” Kevin finally smiles again and Bayliss has never wanted the bar to close more than he does right now. “I guess I’m going to have to see for myself.”

**

Bayliss is a bachelor and has been for a long time. The only saving grace is that he’s usually only home to sleep, so the majority of the apartment is clean. There are dirty clothes piled in the corner, overflowing from the hamper – undershirts and underwear, white shirts that look gray in almost any light and socks in assorted colors – still, it’s easy enough to hide that all behind one closed door, and Kevin seems more interested in the books on his shelves. Tim watches him for a moment, his eyes falling to Kevin’s fingers as they trail along the edge of the bookcase, before he forces himself into the kitchen, pulling out ingredients to keep his hands busy, even if it doesn’t do a damn thing to get his mind off Kevin or his hands.

“Do you need help?”

Bayliss nearly drops the eggs, but manages to hang onto the carton and give Kevin a sheepish smile. “No. Thanks. Got it. You want a beer?”

“With breakfast?”

“Well, um…” Tim blushes and is beginning to hate his fair skin until Kevin smiles at him. “It’s sort of lunch. For me. Or dinner. I’m not sure. Night shifts always mess me up.”

Kevin nods and goes over to the fridge, opening it and looking inside. There is beer and water and pretty much everything else is on the counter, though Tim’s actually impressed that he’s got vegetables on hand that are the colors they’re supposed to be on hand. “Beer sounds good.”

“I didn’t mention that not only do I make a good omelet, it’s the _only_ thing I can make.” He looks at Kevin out of the corner of his eye, smiling once he sees Kevin doing the same. Kevin pulls out two beers and opens then, setting one in front of Tim and leaning against the counter next to him, watching as Tim pulls a cutting board out of the cupboard. “What about you? Do you cook?”

“I have a mother.”

Tim looks at him. “Is that a yes or a no?”

Kevin smiles and sinks his teeth into his lower lip and Tim has to press his own lips together to keep from making a noise. “I’m not sure.” Kevin shifts slightly so his hip is against the counter, his beer sweating droplets next to Tim’s. “You sure you don’t want help?”

Tim doesn’t answer, doesn’t know how. Instead he reaches out, his fingers tracing over the sharp line of Kevin’s cheekbone, finding the curve of it with the softest touch. Kevin catches his breath, his lips parting with the inhalation and Tim stares at his open mouth, bringing his thumb over to brush across the full lower lip. They stand like that, unmoving, for what seems like hours before Tim drops the knife on the counter, bringing his other hand up to frame Kevin’s face, watching him carefully as he leans in, tasting another soft exhale before his mouth closes over Kevin’s and they’re kissing.

It’s barely a kiss, to be honest, but his mouth is on Kevin’s and Kevin’s not pulling away. His skin is soft and warm under Tim’s hand, pliant and hungry as he opens his mouth to the light pressure of Tim’s tongue, opening beneath him with a soft moan. Tim echoes him with one of his own, tilting his head just enough to take advantage of Kevin’s willingness, thumbs stroking the hollows of Kevin’s cheeks, his fingers sliding back to hold Kevin in place, fingers threaded in his thick, dark hair.

Kevin’s hand slides up, his palm warm on Tim’s chest, his fingers flexing and stroking against the rough fabric of Tim’s shirt, rasping against the hair beneath it. His other hand settles against Tim’s hip, rubbing at the thinner fabric just inside his pocket. Tim makes a noise, another moan, and tightens his grip, exploring Kevin’s mouth with his tongue, tasting all the surfaces, sucking Kevin’s tongue until nothing matters but the hard pressure of them against one another.

They break apart, both gasping. Tim’s hands are still caught in Kevin’s hair and he pulls him in again, hungry for another taste. Kevin doesn’t talk and Tim’s grateful, not wanting words right now, wanting everything but. He moves closer, edging Kevin back against the counter and easing against him. Kevin’s hand moves up Tim’s chest to his neck, curving around it, fingers playing with the short hair at his nape. Huffing a breath, Tim breaks the kiss, his forehead against Kevin’s, both of them just on the verge of gasping.

“We should…” Tim isn’t sure what he means to say, but Kevin’s nodding regardless, so he kisses him again. Kevin’s mouth is soft and welcoming, hungry as he thrusts his tongue into Tim’s mouth, taking his turn to explore the heat and wet of it. Tim’s fingers dig into Kevin’s scalp, massaging it, unwilling to let him pull away at all. It’s like being in the box in a way, uncovering layer after layer of defenses and pushing them away until Kevin’s melted against him. It’s as good as sex, maybe better than sex, and Tim can’t get enough of the taste of him. “Kevin.”

Kevin shudders at the sound of his name, his eyes closed and his body leaning against Tim’s, breathing him in. Tim looks down at him and he can see that, beneath the soft skin of youth there are sharp features that are still likely to be overshadowed by his enormous, bright blue eyes. Kevin opens them as if he can hear what Tim’s thinking and smiles, so open and honest and innocent that Tim can’t catch his breath.

“Omelets.”

“Omelets.” It takes a moment and then Kevin gets it, stepping back as well as he can given that Tim has him pretty much pinned against the counter. He manages to sidestep and ease away, moving to the opposite counter while Tim digs the knife out from beneath a bag of mushrooms and a somewhat dubious green pepper. Tim can feel heat on the back of his neck and on his cheeks and he knows Kevin is watching him, probably wondering what the hell is going on. Tim feels the same way and doesn’t have anything resembling an answer.

“There’s a grater over there. Could you grab it and grate the cheese?”

“Sure.”

Tim’s probably not imagining the stiffness to Kevin’s voice. It’s probably there and not just in his voice, but in his posture and attitude. Still, Tim just focuses on the onions and pepper and tomato and mushrooms, chopping them and throwing them in a pan with a slab of butter that sizzles on the high heat. He reaches above the counter for a bowl, and he’s not kidding that this is all he knows how to make, but he really is good at it. He whisks the eggs with spices – cayenne pepper and a dash of salt, oregano and garlic – and then sets them aside, using a spatula to stir and separate the items sizzling in the pan.

“How much?”

He looks over and Kevin has a small pile of cheese grated, piled on a plate. The edges of each small sliver are frayed and nearly transparent. “A little more.”

“You need more cheese. This stuff…” He shakes his head and motions to a large chunk he had cut off, the edges mottled with green. “It’s kind of scary.”

“Haven’t had much time to go shopping.” He pours the egg mixture into the pan and turns the heat down, turning to look at Kevin. “I suppose your fridge is fully stocked?”

“I don’t have a fridge. I have a hot plate and a cooler and a whole list of lies I tell my mother about what I’m having for dinner, because I know she’ll freak out if I tell her I’m surviving on Top Ramen and grilled cheese sandwiches.”

Tim laughs and carefully flips the eggs in the pan so that the surface is now smooth, slightly browned and decorated with color. “Bring me the cheese?”

Kevin does, setting the plate on the counter and careful not to touch Tim’s hand. Tim showers it onto the egg, covering the entire surface before scraping the last remains into a thin layer on one side and folding it in half. Kevin leans on the counter and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, lips parting again as he inhales. “God. Smells amazing.”

Tim makes a noise and leans in and kisses him again, unable to resist. Kevin groans, the sound almost a whimper and this time he fists his hand in Tim’s shirt, tugging it from his slacks. Tim reaches for the knob, turning the burner off and pushing the pan back further on the stove as Kevin shoves the fabric out of his way and gets his hand on Tim’s bare skin. “Kevin.” Tim breathes his name as he steps back, away from the burner, letting Kevin guide him against the wall. There’s no stopping this time, and he doesn’t want to stop, doesn’t want to end this when Kevin feels so good settled against him, his body fitted to Tim’s despite the height difference. He can feel Kevin’s arousal pressing against his thigh, feel his own brush Kevin’s stomach and he shudders roughly, deepening the kiss.

Kevin’s fingers find the buttons to Tim’s shirt, making short work of them and tugging his tie loose enough that it lands there against his bare flesh between the parted material. “How old are you?” Tim murmurs against Kevin’s mouth, his own hands sliding down the smooth fabric of Kevin’s shirt, tugging it free.

“Old enough.” Kevin’s hands move to Tim’s slacks, undoing his belt and his fly and pushing them down, leaving him in a tangle of polyester at his knees and cotton boxer shorts that don’t do anything to hide how hard he is, how much he’s craving this. Kevin trails his hand along Tim’s length, the cotton smooth against his overheated skin. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to know better.” Tim kisses the smile off of Kevin’s face, sucking on his lower lip for a long moment before pushing his tongue into Kevin’s mouth, sliding his hands back up Kevin’s body to cup the back of his head, hold him there against him. “I want you.”

“I gathered that.” Kevin laughs softly, not at him but Tim still flushes. He steps back, his fingers light against Tim’s erection as he pulls away. Tim watches as Kevin loosens his own tie even further before unbuttoning his shirt and tugging both off. The hair on his chest is dark and patchy, covering his nipples and then thinning out on its way to his lower abdomen where it’s dark and thick, vanishing beneath his belt. Without a word, Kevin undoes his own slacks and steps out of them, his shoes and socks on the floor as he drapes both his slacks and shirt over one of Tim’s rickety kitchen chairs. “Do you have a bedroom, Detective?”

“Call me Tim. I need you to call me Tim.”

Kevin smiles and nods, taking a step back toward the door into the living room. “Do you have a bedroom, Tim?”

Tim nods and steps forward, nearly ending up flat on his face in a tangle of his slacks. He climbs out of them as well as his shoes, hurrying to follow Kevin to the back of the apartment and the closed door to the bedroom. “It’s a mess.”

“I’m not here for the decorating.”

Tim’s not sure where this guy came from, because he doesn’t seem quite the same, but he is in all the ways that count. He’s got Kevin’s eyes and Kevin’s build and that humor that lights Kevin’s smile as he opens the door and casts a quick glance at Tim’s unmade bed. Tim wants to blush, but all the blood is busy in his cock and instead he moves into the bedroom and catches Kevin’s wrist, tugging him back against him. “Kiss me.”

Kevin does, hungry and aggressive now, sliding his arms around Tim’s waist. Tim moans against his mouth with the skin to skin contact, wanting more as he backs Kevin to the bed. Kevin goes willingly, one knee on the bed and easing back on the mattress as Tim settles over him. He braces himself, his hands on either side of Kevin’s head and keeps kissing him, sliding his knee between Kevin’s parted legs until he can feel the pressure of Kevin’s erection against his thigh.

“God,” Tim’s voice is husky and breathless, rough with want. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Kevin slips a hand between them, pushing Tim’s boxers down and out of the way, wrapping his hand around Tim’s cock. “Why not?”

“Y-you…you’re…” Tim stutters the words, struggling for air as Kevin strokes him slowly, fingers firm around Tim’s cock.

“I’m what?” Kevin’s voice is rough, lower than normal and his hand doesn’t stop moving. “A lawyer? An intern? A guy?”

“Twelve.” Tim laughs and kisses Kevin again, sinking his teeth into Kevin’s lower lip for a moment before he sucks on it to soothe it. “God, I want you.”

“I’m pretty sure that you’ve got me,” Kevin eases his hand off of Tim’s cock and pushes his own boxers out of the way so that all Tim can feel is the velvet smoothness of Kevin’s erection. Tim shudders, his head dropping down against Kevin’s. Kevin catches him in a kiss, his hands moving to curve over Tim’s buttocks, squeezing lightly.

Tim shudders again and deepens the kiss, thrusting down against Kevin, their bodies sliding together. Kevin moans, the sound deep in his throat, almost a growl. Tim lowers himself down, elbow on the mattress so he can slide his hand between them, his long fingers wrapping around both of them. His thumb grazes the slick head of Kevin’s shaft and Tim closes his eyes as he begins to stroke them. He moves slowly at first, leaving both of them gasping at the pressure and contact.

“Kevin.” Tim bites the word out through clenched teeth. Kevin shakes his head, closing his eyes as a shudder wracks him. Tim kisses Kevin again, thrusting into the stroke of his hand as Kevin does the same. “God,” Tim breathes, tightening his first around them.

Kevin winds his leg around the back of Tim’s legs, heel digging into the calf as he arches into him, grinding against Tim with increasing desperation. Tim can’t hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears, but the sheen of perspiration on Kevin’s flushed face is enough to tell him they’re both on the edge, and the thought of the rush of Kevin’s orgasm triggers Tim’s own, and wet heat coats them both. Kevin arches off the bed, his body taut for an endless moment before he comes as well.

Tim slumps down against Kevin, his hand still between them, trapped by his weight. Small tremors shudder through Kevin and Tim inhales him, tasting the warmth of his breath. “Um. Wow.”

Kevin laughs and traces Tim’s brow with shaky fingers. “So, are your omelets _that_ good?”

“It’s kind of an apples and oranges comparison.” Tim eases his hand from between them, bracing himself over Kevin. “I’ve never done this.”

“I guessed.” Kevin’s voice is soft, resigned almost, but not mocking. “You’re a nice guy, Tim Bayliss.”

“So are you.” Tim watches Kevin carefully. “So why do I get the feeling that we just had our first and last time?”

“Because my internship is almost done.” Kevin’s slow smile is as warm as the thumb he traces over Tim’s bottom lip. “And you’re not even close to sure this is what you want.”

“I’m pretty sure I was involved there, Kevin.” He can feel his defenses rise the same way they do with Frank, with anyone telling him what he knows, how he feels. “Or are you trying to tell me…”

“I’m not trying to tell you anything, Tim.” Kevin lifts himself off the bed and kisses Tim lightly. “Just that it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“But what if it does? Mean something?” He pulls away from Kevin, sitting up on the bed and grabbing a t-shirt to clean himself up, tossing it on Kevin’s stomach when he finishes. “And how would you know? You’re just a kid.” He can see the remark hit home, and he’s all too familiar with the sting. Kevin’s face shutters and his expressive eyes shut down.

“You’re right, Detective.” Kevin says the word like a curse, hard and unforgiving. “I’m just a kid. Which begs the question of what the hell are you doing with me in your apartment?” Kevin doesn’t wait for an answer as he levers himself off the bed and heads to the other room for his clothes. Tim sits there in silence until he hears the front door shut, the quiet click of the latch more telling than a loud slam. Waiting a few minutes longer, he finally gets up and walks naked to the kitchen to dump the cold omelet in the trash.

**

“What the hell did you do to my intern, Bayliss?”

Tim looks up from the file on his desk, blinking at Danvers. “Pardon?”

“One minute, I think I’ve got my next ADA and the next he’s hightailing it back to LA like he’s got the hounds of hell on his heels.”

“Hounds of hell sounds more like Frank.” Tim goes back to his file, feeling the flush burning the tips of his ears. “Did you ask Frank?”

“Bayliss, you’ve been this guy’s contact from day one. What the hell happened?”

“I really don’t know.” Tim makes a note on his pad, something inconsequential and not at all related to the case file in front of him. “Ask Walker.”

“He’s not talking.” Danvers sits next to Bayliss’s desk and rakes his hand through his hair. “Says he wants to go back to his family in LA and do corporate law. _Corporate law_ , Bayliss.”

“That’s bad, is it?”

“What do you think, Tim? Do you think it’s bad that we’re losing someone? Someone who wants to stand up to the bad guys to corporate law?”

“Sounds kind of bad.” Bayliss can feel the heat moving to his face. “Maybe he wasn’t cut out for working in the DA’s office.”

“You think so?” Danvers looks on the cusp of exploding, his own face flushed. “That’s what you think, Tim? You think he wasn’t cut out for it? You think he came out here from goddamn LA to work in _Baltimore_ because he wasn’t cut out for the DA’s office?”

Tim looks up and meets Danvers’s gaze. He can feel his own embarrassment and agitation and frustration brewing, sure it shows on his face. “I don’t know, okay? I didn’t _do_ anything.”

“He was a good kid, a good _lawyer_.” Danvers sighs and rests his elbow on Tim’s desk, rubbing his eyes. “What if I did something? What if I made him leave?”

“Maybe he was just homesick.” Tim needs distance, needs to get away from Danvers, from the squad room. He needs to be alone to curse at himself, to hit things. He needs space and time and _Goddamn it_ he _wants_ Kevin. “You want me to talk to him?”

Danvers looks hopeful then suspicious then shrugs. “He’s packing up his apartment today. You know where it is?”

Tim’s sat outside it in his car a few times, watching like some sort of creepy stalker. “Yeah. I think so.” He glances toward Gee’s office. “You’d have to smooth things over with Gee. Tell him I’m working on something for you.”

Danvers nods. “Done. Get him to stay, Tim”

Tim stands up and pulls his suit jacket on, all too aware of the small mustard stain on his lapel, of his disheveled appearance. “I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”

He looks about to protest, but after a moment, Danvers nods again. “Yeah. Okay. Just…we need him, Tim. We need him or someone like him.”

“I’ll do what I can.” Tim grabs his stuff and heads for the door, not looking back and not really caring if Gee’s going to let him go, not giving a damn if the phone rings and there’s no one there to answer it.

**

The door is open and there’s a stack of boxes just inside. The room is cold, and Tim can tell there’s a window open somewhere because of the sharp breeze. Instinct kicks in and he draws his gun, edging around the door to find himself face to face with Kevin and a box of books. He stands there dumbly, unable to move, his gun centered on Kevin’s forehead.

“I’d put my hands up, Detective, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want half my law library crashing down on your foot.”

“Right. Right.” Tim safeties and holsters the gun. “Your window’s open. In winter.”

“I’m packing.” Kevin’s dressed down in jeans and a t-shirt, muscles Tim’s not used to seeing outlined against the taut fabric. The last time he got a glimpse of them, they were covered in a sheen of sweat, practically glowing in the faint light of the waxy moon filtering in through Tim’s bedroom window. “Going back home.”

“I heard.” He stands there awkwardly then steps out of the way so Kevin can place the box in his hand on top of all the others. “Danvers isn’t happy.”

“It was an internship.”

“He hoped it was something more.” Tim reaches out, his fingers grazing Kevin’s forearm. “I think we all were.”

Kevin’s eyes close slightly and he shakes his head. “Tim…”

Tim reaches out with his free hand and closes the apartment door, waiting until it shuts to touch Kevin. He traces his fingertips over Kevin’s jaw line, bringing both hands up to draw lines softly on his skin. “Don’t leave.”

“What am I going to do if I stay, Tim?” Kevin’s voice is soft and low, only slightly disappointed. “Work for Danvers? Keep working in your bar?”

“Would that be so bad?” Tim leans in, his mouth ghosting over Kevin’s lips. Kevin shivers and opens his mouth and Tim can taste coffee on the air between them. “Would it?”

“Tim, please.”

“Please what?” He doesn’t wait for Kevin’s answer, just fits his mouth to his, sliding his tongue past Kevin’s parted lips. Kevin makes a soft noise, something like a moan, and Tim deepens the kiss, his hand sliding around to fist in Kevin’s hair. He’s had it cut, and the short strand tickle Tim’s palms. “Please what, Kevin?”

Kevin shakes his head and fists his hand around the lapel of Tim’s suit, the other going to the back of Tim’s neck. Tim stops talking, stops thinking and fits his body to Kevin’s. They mesh in ways he can’t explain, his head angled down to meet the upward turn of Kevin’s. He thinks about Emma and then about Kevin and how this feels right and wrong all at once. Kevin slides his hand down Tim’s chest to his cock and it breaks the kiss, Tim gasping for air.

“Please what, Kevin?” He needs to hear the words, needs someone to tell him what he’s doing, needs someone to delineate right and wrong, black and white.

Kevin’s eyes are the same blue Tim remembers from the first day, that first abrupt meeting. They’re dangerous and deceptively innocent and Tim wants to lose himself in them. Kevin takes a step back and shakes his head. “Stop, Tim. Please stop.”

Tim looks down at his feet and nods. He wonders briefly if this is what it felt like to Frank during the Pamela Wilgis case, when all the things he thought he suddenly understood changed, like a kaleidoscope shift. “I like you.”

“I know. I like you too.” Kevin’s voice is soft, and Tim can hear the amusement in it. He relaxes slightly, irrationally pleased that Kevin isn’t angry. “But you and I…You’re a nice guy, Tim Bayliss.”

“I know.” Tim sighs. “That’s going to be my damn epitaph. ‘Tim Bayliss. Decent cop. Nice guy’. They’ll leave off the ‘sexually confused’ and ‘shitty detective’ just in case someone who actually likes me reads the damn thing.” He looks up at Kevin, a self-deprecating grin twisting his lips. “Stay. Help me be less confused?”

“I don’t think I’d help that, Tim.” Kevin shoves his hands in his pockets and Tim can’t help but study him, memorize the lines of his body. Dressed down and looking shy and embarrassed, Kevin seems his real age, far too young for this, for Tim. “But if you decide…”

“You’ll be in California.”

“Yeah. Well.” Kevin flushes and Tim steps forward again, curving his hand around Kevin’s neck and holding him there for a slow, deep kiss. Tim wants something to remember. When they break apart, Kevin’s face is still warm and pink, but he’s smiling, which makes it all worth it. “It’s not such a bad place. California. And just a few hours away on a plane.”

“Danvers is going to kick my ass. I was supposed to make you stay.”

Kevin nods and traces Tim’s lower lip. “That wasn’t going to happen, Tim. But for what it’s worth? You made me want to.”  



End file.
